


Secret Stanta

by Inkblu



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Holiday Special, M/M, fiddauthor - Freeform, graphic depictions of holiday cheer, if you peer close enough you can see some angst in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblu/pseuds/Inkblu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fiddauthor Holiday Special</p><p>After being forced into an awkward situation, Fiddleford reviews his life choices and desperately attempts to protect Stanford Pines from sleep deprivation, all the while trying to figure what to get him for Christmas. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Stanta

"...And that concludes today's lesson. Make sure you have your assignments in by next week, because I won't have time for marking over the Christmas break. Me and the wife are going up north to see family and I can tell you.."

Fiddleford H. McGucket zoned out as the teacher rambled on about his personal family politics. Mathematics class was great, but only when the seat next to him usually containing his roommate and best friend wasn't empty. Today, without Stanford sitting next to him drawing UFOs in the margins of his notes, it was just another lecture. He glanced around the room, waiting for the droning to end, which would be his cue (and everyone else's) to leave the room. Dragging his sight over all ten of his fellow classmates, his bespectacled eyes fell upon the windows lining one wall of the room, through which a very hazy tree could be discerned. The haziness was nothing to with Fiddleford's poor eyesight. The weather had grown colder and colder as the year came into its last month, and rain dripped down the windows of the classroom, forming little rivers that joined up with one another. Fiddleford compared the raindrops to a printed circuit, a bunch of little lines joining and splitting up depending on where the flow took them. He let his gaze rest on the drops a few moments before returning to his notes, scrawled in the margins 'rain', and circled it twice. Perhaps that observation could come in handy later in his projects. He let out a soft sigh as the teacher's voice continued, now chatting animatedly and doing some sort of charades about his previous family gathering which involved (from what Fiddleford could gather) a burnt turkey thrown across a living-room and large amounts of beer.

The teacher glanced at his wristwatch, noticing that the passage of time had not stopped for his tirade.

"Ah... well... once again we seem to have gone overtime. Apologies, folks. Just don't forget to grab a slip of paper from the hat on my desk as you go out. This year, as we do every year, you'll ALL be participating in our class Secret-Gift Exchange. That means you too, Alexander. Don't give me that look. And please, don't tell anyone who you get. It's a secret, guys."

The class gave a quiet rumble of groans and chatter, before all heading for the front of the class like a flock of seagulls. Fiddleford was too busy packing up his books to head up to the front of class just yet, so he waited until the small crowd has dispersed, tucking slips of paper into pockets or swapping between friends, behind the back of the teacher, who had begun to wipe away complicated quadratics from the blackboard. Fiddleford slid his textbooks into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, the heaviness of which forced him to assume a slouch. Walking slowly through to the front of the class, he wondered how Stanford was this morning. His roommate had been absent from class due to a flu which had struck him down the day before. _It was no wonder,_ Fiddleford thought, _what with the weather being as it is 'n all._

Fiddleford reached the desk and peered down into the beanie which had been used as a drawing-hat. There were two slips of paper inside, one for Fiddleford and one for the absent Stanford. The teacher looked over at Fiddleford from his blackboard cleaning.

"Leave one in there for Ford. I'll speak to him about it once he's feeling better." The teacher went back to his cleaning after giving Fiddleford a quick smile.

Fiddleford reached into the beanie and took the top-most scrap. He jammed it into his jeans pocket and thanked the teacher on his way out.

The humble abode of Pines and McGucket was halfway across campus through the rain. Grasping his backpack to his chest, Fidds jogged as fast as he could, long legs helping him through the wild weather as quickly as possible. His spray jacket, already battered by previous winters, still kept his books dry. His mop of dusky brown hair was plastered dark against his forehead from rain. Eventually he reached the small room he shared with Stanford, the red door glowing like a beacon through the greyness of the winter storm.

Fiddleford opened the door to his dormitory, threw his jacket on the ground, and slumped down on the worn leather couch. He let the bag slide down beside him and the weight lifted off his shoulders like a curse, while his sopping hair wet the worn upholstery. After resting for a moment he turned on the heater, and walked to the bathroom to grab a towel. Drying his hair and face, he decided to check on how his roommate was faring. Fiddleford knocked on Stanford's door before calling softy.

"Howdy buddy. How're you holding up?"

No reply.

With concern and apprehension, Fidds slowly opened the door and peeked around it. There he saw Stanford, blissfully asleep, fluffy blankets and duvets wrapped around him like a cuccoon. His sickness had taken a toll on him; the normal bags under his eyes were darker than usual and his hair was messy and flopped over his forehead. Regardless, he was smiling. His thick glasses lay neatly folded on the desk next to him, while from outside a grey light shone in, casting dappled light over the rainbow of posters that covered the walls. Apart from Stanford's dishevelled appearance, it was a scene of peace.

Fiddleford smiled to himself. Ford barely got any sleep when he was well, and Fiddleford suspected that the sickness had taken advantage of that. Ford was usually a hive of ideas and activity that stayed up long into the night, sometimes waking an exasperated Fiddleford in the early hours of the morning. Looking at him like this though, bundled and happy as he was, Fiddleford felt an almost protective feeling in his chest towards Ford. He consciously shoved the feeling down. He couldn't think of Stanford like that. He shouldn't that think of Stanford like that. Stanford was strictly a friend. It would just be weird and awkward if Fiddleford thought of him as anything more, he reckoned. The smile dropped from his face as he closed Stanford's door and realized not for the first time that this situation couldn't last. Before long, he knew his emotions would get the better of him and everything would be revealed. He had to keep his own secret.

 _Speaking of secrets..._ He dug his hand into his jeans pocket, still wet from his mad dash through the pouring rain. He pulled out the folded paper he hadn't had time to look at yet. Fiddleford hated these gift things. He barely knew anyone in the class, and they only knew him as the smart southerner. Making his way back to the couch, he slumped down again and opened the paper. Ink had bled through to the other side from rain damage and the fibers threatened to tear in his fumbling hands. He stared at the name written in blue ink for a few seconds.

Stanford Pines.

_Oh._

The warm protective feeling rushed into his chest again, threatening thoughts and fantasies that Fiddleford forcefully rejected.

_Right._

"Well," he sighed under his breath. "What did you expect, Fiddleford? I tell ya, the world is out to tear you apart."

"And Ah've no idea what to get him."

\-----

Later that evening, just as it was beginning to get dark, Ford still hadn't emerged from his cozy cavern. Fidds went to check on him a couple of times, but always found him asleep, once halfway off the bed. Fiddleford hadn't dared prop him back up, so he sheepishly left him there. _Darnit, he could be so adorable sometimes. No, no. Adorable might not be the right word,_ he had quickly corrected himself. _Uh, more... endearing._

Fiddleford pulled some leftover lasagna from the shared bar fridge and practically threw it into the fairly-new microwave. A few minutes of boredom later, watching the glass plate spin his food like a turntable, the microwave came to halt. Fiddleford had been trying to keep quiet for hours now, just studying on the couch and getting distracted by the thought of buying Stanford a Christmas gift. He had toyed with the idea of swapping with someone else, but decided it would be too awkward and would just raise more questions among the other students, and perhaps even start rumors. That was the last thing he wanted. The quiet in the room was smashed by three shrill beeps from the microwave.

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

Fiddleford slammed his finger on the open button, trying to make the noise stop as fast as possible. The door popped open with an equally loud 'ding!'

Too late.

A groggy Stanford weakly pushed open his door, pulling a blanket behind him. His hair was even more ruffled than before, and his pajama shirt was wrongly buttoned, causing Fiddleford to stifle a laugh. Ford looked up from wiping the sleep from his eyes, glasses askew.

"Oh... hello, Fidds. I suppose I must've slept in, huh?" he rasped to Fiddleford, the flu making his normally deep voice even raspier. As if that were even possible, thought Fiddleford to himself.

"Hey there, Stanford. Y'all are just in time for some... old lasagna. Sorry Ah couldn't fix you up anything more fancy-like."

"No problems, Fiddleford. This'll be just fine."

Ford glanced out the kitchen window to the darkening grey sky, while Fiddleford scooped out Ford and himself some semi-hot food, wanting to make sure Stanford didn't starve himself as he normally did.

"I guess I slept in a little more than I thought. Why didn't you wake me up? Of all the days I had to stay in bed all day, it had to be the one day a week we have Advanced Mathematics."

"Ah reckoned you needed the rest. You went to bed at four last night, Stanford. Not a perfect time to go to bed when you were so darn sick."

"Don't mind me. I'll be fine. I've just been... out in the cold a lot lately. That's all this is, just a bad cold."

"Ford, the only time you leave the dorm is when you have to get to class. It's stress, and you know it. You work yourself to the bone with all these subjects, trying to graduate well before yer time."

"Ah, rubbish. I'll be just fine, Fiddleford. You can stop mothering over me now." Ford shot Fiddleford a half-joking look. "I appreciate it, but you needn't worry. I am well aware of my workload, and have a tight schedule... which has been interrupted by my lack of work today."

Fiddleford sighed and looked down at his plate of food which was slowly growing colder, together with the atmosphere in the room. He really wished Ford would take better care of himself. The young man was intelligent beyond belief, but he could be such a... a child sometimes. Naive to other people and to his own physical needs. _How great it would be if Fiddleford could just teach him to take care of himself a bit more... or if he, Fiddleford could take care of him. Nuh-uh, not again. I don't like Ford,_ he told himself firmly. _It would be too awkward. You know he doesn't like you in that way and you just have to deal with that._

"So, mind giving me a short run through on what happened in class today?" Fiddleford's inner argument was interrupted by Stanford sitting across him at the kitchen table, complexion pale, but eyes bright. He always got like this when he was about to be told something new and exciting.

"Same old, really. Continuing on from last week's lecture. You can probably get everything you need from the textbook, to be honest. We can look over the assignment and my notes after dinner if you'd like."

"That'd be great. Anything else exciting happen today?"

"Nothing, apart from some Christmas gift swap-" He realized his mistake too late and almost clapped a hand to his mouth in sudden regret.

"Gift-swap? Like a present-sharing thing? Sounds a bit juvenile for a university, if you ask me. Getting people you don't even know presents. Ah well, probably better off without me joining in on that. I'm not so great with spreading holiday cheer." Stanford wrapped his blanket further around him, trying to keep himself warm. The heating in the room was terrible, only one old radiator, which gave out heat about three inches around itself and no more. The lasagna was not helping, since the microwave had only done half the job.

"I think the idea is to get people who don't know each other to become a little closer. Although it's a bit childish, it just might work, Ford. You never know."

"Yeah, but whoever gets me will just get me more books that I probably already have or just forget about me. I'm not exactly a well-liked student in Mathematics class, Fidds."

"S-sure Ford. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think." _You're a terrible liar, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. He'll know it's you for sure, and then your covers blown._

"Maybe." Ford yawned, arms stretching under his blankets. "Alright Fidds, show me your notes. I'd like to get started on the assignment tonight."

"I ain't showing you my notes if you plan on staying up any later. I know you've been asleep all day but there ain't no way you're hitting the hay in the wee hours of the morning again, Stanford Pines. Get some rest and take a break. Play a board game or somethin."

"I guess I could leave my schedule for tomorrow. And I'd love to play something, but it's just too cold in this room. I honestly just want to go back to bed and read, Fidds."

_Oh thank god, at least he's not thinking of wandering around the house in this state until he drops unconscious._

"Glad to know, Ford." Fiddleford gave him a warm smile. "Now go to bed, you look sicker than a pig in summer."

Ford gave him a strange look and then dragged his blanketed form across the room to his doorway, looking for all the world like a human-sized caterpillar with thick-rimmed glasses and space pajamas. He gave Fiddleford a weak smile before reaching out to close his door. Just before it shut, a six-fingered hand appeared, stopping it from closing. Ford stuck his head out from the doorway.

"Thanks for everything Fiddleford. I don't know what I'd do without you, honestly."

Fiddleford didn't get much sleep that night.

\-----

 

The rain had stopped overnight, leaving in its place a sharp frost which laced the edges of the grass and ran up the trunks of trees on campus. Everything outside was still, frozen with no wind nor rain. Stanford was staying inside today, recovering from his flu, which had lessened considerably overnight. _Perhaps it wasn't as bad as it looked,_ wondered Fiddleford. _He_ had _insisted that he was fine. Maybe pretending there was nothing actually helped rid him of it...?_

"Alright Stanford, I'm headin' out! Anythin' you need from the city stores, tell me now!" Fidds called out.

"All good on my front, buddy!", came the hoarse reply.

"Comin' back around 3, then. Don't work yerself too hard, Ford."

"Farewell, Fiddleford." He could hear the smile in Stanford's voice.

The bus trip into the city center was quick but packed with college students this time on a Saturday morning. The streets were packed with shoppers hurrying about shopping before Christmas; it was only a few weeks to go after all, and the last week of school before winter break. Foggy clouds hung in the air from people's breath, and Fiddleford adjusted his scarf around his long neck. The red wool scratched against his skin, but going without would mean getting a chill for sure, and he had already been testing his luck living with a sick Ford in his dorm.

He alighted from the bus right into the middle of a group of people, who practically bowled him over. He stammered out a quiet apology before straightening himself back up and continuing along the the grocery store. He collected the food that he and Ford would need for a week. They shared the food duties in the house. Fiddleford had often forced himself to hold back from comparing their living situation to an old married couple's. He chuckled to himself and purchased the food.

As he left the store he noticed a large swathe of tinsel which was in the process of being draped over a sign that read 'Mulligan's' across the street. In the shop window he spied a colorful display of coats and scarves. An idea came to his head, bright as the display shone. He swiftly crossed the street and made his way into the small store. Inside, the store was much greyer than it's outside seemed to suggest, probably thanks to the cheap fluorescent lights which drained the color from everything. Fiddleford loosened his scarf- the inside of Mulligan's was heated to almost sauna levels. Behind the counter sat a chipper young man, bright orange hair and a huge smile. He nodded to Fiddleford in greeting, who returned the nod. A rack of scarves caught his eye, and Fiddleford sauntered over to the rack. Each scarf was carefully draped over the rail in a multitude of colors. He checked the price tag and let out a low whistle, just enough that the shop assistant wouldn't be able to hear. Mulligan's sure was high-class, too much for his student budget. He thanked the assistant sadly and went to leave. A flash of neon yellow caught his eye just as he opened the door, letting a cool breeze sweep through the boiling air of the shop. He closed the door slowly and made his way over to the sale sticker. It was attached to a large brown overcoat, complete with large lapels and breast pocket. Best of all was the bright sale sign stuck on to one of the lapels like a badge. Fiddleford checked the price tag. It wouldn't break the bank, but Fiddleford might have to go without fresh food for a week. He released the mannequin from the coat and practically jogged back to the assistant, who was giving him a concerned look.

"Just this one, then?", the assistant asked questioningly, hints of fright in his voice.

"T-thanks very much. It's uh- a perfect fit." an excited Fiddleford managed to stammer out.

The assistant looked Fiddleford up and down, comparing his slight frame to the bulkiness of the coat.

"...Sure."

\-----

A week later, snow had fallen on campus. The whole school was blanketed in the stuff, with scruffy dirty marks where students and teachers had rushed to class making great tracks in the otherwise pristine carpet of white. Stanford's flu had been almost shaken off, just leaving his nose slightly redder than usual. The bags under his eyes had improved, thanks to Fiddleford's insistence on at least seven hours of sleep each night. Things were back on track for the two roommates, and the term was almost over and done with. It was the last Friday before winter break, and the Mathematics classroom was decorated from top to bottom, complete with a small tree which was brought in by the school's groundskeeper especially for the occasion. Fiddleford left out a small gasp of wonder as the two roommates entered the classroom. Stanford managed to hold in his excitement, but still let a smile spread across his face. They took their seats near the middle of class as the professor began to explain the long history of the Backupsmore's seasonal gift-giving. Ford and Fiddleford shared a grin, Fiddleford's heartbeat measuring a 5.5 on the Richter scale.

"Alrighty folks, you can hand over your gifts now! Find your person and spread some holiday cheer. Unlike my family, who don't seem to get the whole 'family fun time' thing." The teacher announced, the last sentence washed out as the students rose and loudly called out for their recipients.

Fiddleford slid a bright blue package sideways across the desk to Stanford. Ford stared at the wrapping-paper for a full five seconds.

"F-for me?" he eventually managed to say. Fiddleford gave him a nod, the butterflies in his stomach screaming for death, hands shaking involuntarily.

Ford unwrapped the gift with delicacy only six fingers could accomplish, revealing the soft tan of the overcoat. Ford swiftly put on to check the size, adjusting the sleeves so that his hands were free from the long sleeves. He stopped silently, the world losing all other sound in Fiddleford's ears except Stanford's quiet breathing.

 _He doesn't like it... oh god, this is awful!_ His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden pressure on his hand. Warmth spread up Fiddleford's arm.

It only took one moment for Fiddleford to realize that six fingers clasped his.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Fiddleford."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction for several years, so I apologize for any issues... I wrote this around Christmas but didn't have an AO3 account until today!! Hope you enjoyed reading it <3
> 
> If you want to see my art/blog stuff you can find me at inkieblu.tumblr.com


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